


Every Action Being an Act of Creation

by Break_So_Beautifully, kikabennet



Series: Rochambeau Universe [3]
Category: Do No Harm (TV), Hamilton - Miranda, His Dark Materials, House M.D., In the Heights - Miranda/Hudes
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Character Death, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, References to Depression, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Break_So_Beautifully/pseuds/Break_So_Beautifully, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikabennet/pseuds/kikabennet
Summary: Can be read as stand alone stories or part of the Rochambeau series. Each of the boys and how they figured out their abilities. Lee, Alvie, Ruben, Usnavi, and Alexander.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Jason Cole/Ruben Marcado, Ruben Marcado/Ian Price
Series: Rochambeau Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081637
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	1. Lee: I'm Good With Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Mini prequel chapters written for Rochambeau. Trigger warnings in the tags. Please let us know what you think!

Lee sits on his bed, Hester tucked in the front of his button-down shirt, listening to his father scream and throw things at his mother, who screams back. She’s screaming at him to stop. Hester, in the form of chipmunk, wiggles deeper inside of the boy’s shirt. She can feel his heart pounding.

“I wish it wasn’t raining,” Lee says, turning around to the storm pounding at his window. 

“Lee!” His father barks. “Lee Waylon Scoresby! You come out here right now!”

“Time to go,” Hester says as Lee quickly fumbles for his coat and shoes, shaky hands opening his bedroom window. 

He doesn’t bother closing it back-there’s no time-he just takes off into the storm, running through the Texas desert as fast as he can. He knows all of the good hiding spots here. He knows of a patch of thick trees with overgrown roots. The roots raise up out of the ground and create burrows. The trees are also very tall and thick with branches that beg to be climbed. Lee’s spent many nights in those burrows and up in those trees.

Lee throws himself on the ground and burrows under the roots, wiggling his body as far as it will go. He hopes that this time, his father won’t find him. He’s never been that lucky. His dad always seems to find him. If he bothers to look. His only hope of avoiding a beating is if his dad passes out from the drink before he decides to focus his attention on actually finding Lee. 

“Lee! You better get your sorry, scrawny ass back here you good for nothing waste of life. Or so help me when I find you you’re gonna know what it means to be sorry.” He can hear his father traipsing through the puddles of desert rain. It’s always storming when his dad is mad. 

Lee’s whole body shakes as he tries to make himself as small as possible. If his dad is out in the storm looking for him, then it’s not going to be a lucky night. 

“We could keep running,” Hester from inside his shirt pocket. “Or… or we could go back to the house? Do you really wanna wait until he finds us again?”

“Shh. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

Lee remains frozen in terror as he hears his father’s angry voice and heavy footsteps getting closer and closer. 

He cringes when he hears his father’s voice just above his head. “There you are, you little rat! You best get out here boy if you intend to save yourself from a world of hurt. Though you ain’t getting off without a belting.” **  
**

Lee can’t move. His mind wants to run, but he knows that will just make it worse. And the sheer dread of what is coming keeps him paralyzed in place. 

“Why you little..!” his father reaches into his safe space and manages to grab Lee’s foot. 

“No! No! Let go.” He blindly kicks at his dad and hears a yelp of pain. This only serves to further infuriate his father. 

The man gets on his belly and, this time with both hands, he bodily yanks Lee from his hiding spot. 

“You make me come all the way out here in the goddamn rain!” His father says, shaking him by the shirt before slapping him hard across the face. “Broken dishes all over the kitchen! Yer mother can’t hold nothin’ for shit!”

He sets him him down but takes the back of his shirt. “Yer just like her, you know that?”

Lee struggles and his father cuffs the back of his head. Lee continues to thrash. The last time he took one of his father’s beatings, he couldn’t sit or walk for days. He still has the marks on his back and the backs of his legs.

He wriggles out of his coat and then takes back off the other way, Hester now a small robin flying beside him. His father’s daemon, a badger named Irma, chases them and jumps up to swipe at Hester. Lee and his daemon both fall. 

“You done it now, Brat.” His father walks over to him, taking off his belt. “Useless as that shitty mother of yours.”

He strikes Lee once, then twice, and then something happens. The wind picks up. There’s more thunder. Could it be a tornado? His father is momentarily distracted by it and Lee marine-crawls to some nearby shrubbery. There’s blood on his nose and lips. He hears his father barreling over and he covers his head and screams, “DON’T!”

There’s a flash of light accompanied by a deafening crash as lightning strikes a scrubby tree just a few feet away from them. Instead of scaring his father away, his father grows more irate, yanking him once again out into the open where he can reach every inch of him with his belt. 

“You useless piece of trash. You can’t even control your own damn powers! You will learn to control your emotions if it’s the last thing I do. Get! Yourself! Under! Control!” 

He rains down blows on Lee’s trembling, crying body. When the belt isn’t enough and the thunder continues to crash around them, Lee’s father changes to his boot. He kicks him once in the stomach, circles around him continuing to berate him and scream obscenities at him, before kicking him in the back. The last thing that Lee remembers is his father’s boot connecting with the side of his face. 

**\---** **-**

When Lee wakes up, it’s with a throbbing headache and bruises and scratches covering him from head to toe. 

Hester is trembling on his chest in squirrel form. “Are you okay, Lee?”

“Yeah,” he says. He goes to reach up and pet her, but is met with a searing pain in his arm. That’s when he notices the bandages. He does not have a cast, but his forearm is splinted and immobilized. 

“Ow! Damn! He broke my arm this time.”

“Yeah. You need to lie still.”

“Did you hear what he said, Hester? He said I was making the storm.” Lee looks directly into Hester’s eyes. “Do you think that was us?”

“I don’t know. I suppose it could be. You’re at the right age for powers to start showin’ up,” Hester replies. 

“I always thought it was him.”

“I was thinking about that. I think his ability is that he can find whatever he’s looking for. Maybe it’s why he’s so valuable to the Magisterium.”

“Maybe. I just… I can’t control lighting? I can’t make it rain, can I?”

“Why don’t you try?”

\---

Over the next three years. Lee learns that his dad was right. He does bring the storm. And he can’t control it. Emotional outbursts from Lee, fear, sadness, panic, all seem to make the sky erupt and his father’s temper escalates accordingly. The land around their farm bears witness to the ongoing struggle. So does Lee’s body. He’s skittish most days. The more his father tries to get him to control his powers, the more out of control they seem. He’s taken to spending long hours deep in the scrubby trees, just so he can practice controlling his powers away from his father. 

He can’t remember the last time he wasn’t covered in bruises and welts. It was probably before his mom died a couple of years ago. 

Lee’s father is once again looking for him. Lee thought he’d run far enough away from him this time. He’d only recently found this hiding spot. It’s in the low hills west of their farm. It’s a sort of cave. A hole in the desert rock. Only big enough for his slim 12 year old frame to get into. Lee wishes it was deeper, but he’s also got a healthy fear of cave-ins. So he crouches in the warm earthy smelling hole. Once again, his dad’s furious voice stomps closer and closer. His dad had come home drunk and in Lee’s terror, he’d accidentally struck their house with lightning. 

Lee and Hester decided they weren’t going to stick around to see what his dad thought about that. He squirmed out of his father’s grasp and ran out the back door, not once looking back. 

His father’s bloodhound ability had kicked in though. 

“Where are you! You know I’m going to find you! I’m gonna put you in the ground with your stupid mother this time. You’re dead! You hear me! Dead!”

Lee whimpers in fear. Maybe his dad won't be able to reach him in his little safe space. 

Maybe...

Maybe... 

But how many times has he thought that before. And he was always wrong. His father always got him out. This time will be the last time. His dad had said as much. 

Hester is trembling against his chest. They both know it’s over. 

“Well looky what we have here.” His father’s voice is at the entrance to the little tunnel. “You best not think you’re safe in that hole. Actually, why don't you just stay right there. You’re already in the ground. This’ll be so much easier for me. I’m going to block up this entrance. Now…” 

Lee hears his father’s six shooter pistol cock. 

“You want me to put you out of your misery before I seal it, or leave you to rot?”

Lee doesn’t respond. His father fires a shot into the hole. It buries itself in the rock near Lee’s head. Splinters of stone ricochete into his face and he throws his arms over his head protectively. The wind picks up outside the hole. 

“Oh no you don’t, you out of control piece of-” His father never finishes the sentence. 

There’s another gun shot and a deafening clap of simultaneous thunder. The bullet thuds into the stone near the entrance of the little hole. All is silent. There’s the enticing smell of ozone, the smell of a storm. But it mingles with the sickly smell of singed hair and charred flesh. 

Lee waits. Hester is still against his chest, but now she’s in rabbit form. Some sort of huge rabbit. She’s crouched protectively in front of Lee. 

When there continues to be nothing but the soft sound of rain, Hester hops tentatively towards the opening. 

“No, Hester. Be careful. He’s counting on something like this. Come back here.” 

He instinctively crawls after her. He reaches the mouth of the tiny cave and looks out. HIs father’s form is curled up outside the cave. Irma his badger daemon is painting and staring at them over his shoulder. Lee watches in stunned silence as the daemon dissipates into golden dust and blows away on the wind of the storm. His father is dead. Struck by lightning from Lee’s storm. 

Off in the distance, Lee’s house is burning. His drunk father hadn’t bothered to try to put out the small fire that had caught with the sudden strike of lightning, too intent on killing his own son. 

Lee looks at Hester. “I don’t suppose you could be a horse for a bit and get us the hell away from here?”

“Lee?” Hester doesn’t say anything else for a moment until Lee turns to look at her in concern. “Lee, I can’t change. I can’t shift. I think this is it.”

Lee gets down on one knee and looks at her. They hold each other’s gaze for a long while. Finally he reaches out and pets her head, her soft long ears, the underside of her chin. 

“Well, partner, at least you ain’t a badger.” 

He smiles at her. “Let’s get out of here. There ain't nothin’ left for us here anyways.”

He puts his back to the burning house and his father’s body and runs, Hester running or rather hoping alongside him. He keeps running. He runs away until he meets Lyra. Now he has something to run to. **  
**


	2. Alvie: I Couldn't Write a Book or Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry it's taken so long to add another story. But hey, slow and steady wins the race. So, without further ado, here is Alvie's backstory.

_ People are screaming. There’s a sound. POP POP POP. It doesn’t sound like the gunfire on TV and movies. It’s softer, but it makes it worse, not better, in an eerie sort of way. A girl risks clambering out from under one of the lab tables and makes a break for the door. She’s shot in the back and falls onto the ground. She doesn’t scream, just sort of moans as the intruder stands over and aims the barrel of the gun down at her.  _

_ It’s like a movie he can’t turn off, like even if he presses every button on the remote control or unplugs it from the wall, it’s still playing.  _

_ He just wants it to stop.  _

“Juan?”

His eyes open and the nightmare is over. Sort of anyway. The residual feelings of dread and anguish keep him from feeling totally at peace. He is happy to see Tia Rosie at his side, stroking some of his short hair as she hands him a glass of water.

“You were having a bad dream,” she tells him. “How are you feeling, Love?”

“...time is it?” He asks, obediently swallowing the two pills she’s given him. 

“You’ve been asleep for almost twenty-four hours,” Rachel says, walking into the room. She’s his cousin, but her parents took him in when she was ten and he was eleven, so she’s more like his sister. 

“Rachel, Dear,” her mother says softly. “Let him gather his bearings.”

“It’s that damn Lithium,” Rachel replies, eyeing the bottle of pills in her mother’s hand. 

“Hey!” Her mother’s voice is more stern now, but soft to Alvie. “Drink some more water.”

Alvie. That’s his name. He’s not some rando in that lecture hall lab college looking place. Well, here he’s Juan. He doesn’t like that name. It’s the name he had for a long time when he was an unhappy little boy going from one foster home to the next, and when he lived with his other aunt and uncle. The not so nice ones. 

His wrists are hot and itchy under the bandages. Nobody ever told him how itchy he would be.

“Don’t scratch,” Tia Rosie says, gently touching his hand. 

They called it an ‘accident’, a side effect of his recent diagnosis, Manic Depressive Disorder. He hadn’t tried to hurt himself, not really. Sometimes he could handle the nightmares that plagued him at night, but during his ‘lows’ (as Dr. Koester put it), the dreams were worse. They were more intense-he could see things more clearly, hear voices more distinctly, and pick out every unpleasant sight, sound, and smell. It became so bad, and always slept so much more during the lows, that he was willing to do anything to stay awake, to keep from going to sleep, to feel something real to wake him up from what seemed like a never ending cycle of sleep-induced terror, so he’d hurt himself. 

“I’m going to go make you something,” Tia Rosie says. “Can you try and eat for me?”

Alvie nods, forcing a half smile, and she kisses his cheek. She gives Rachel a warning look as she leaves the room. 

When she’s gone, Rachel crosses the room and sits down on the bed. She’s wearing his oversized hooded sweater over her pajamas. 

“You look like shit,” she says, leaning against him.

Alvie shrugs at that, letting out a soft chuckle. 

“So what’s been goin’ on?” He asks. There’s a slight rasp to his voice from lack of use. 

“Oh, you know,” she says. “Mom crying. Dad crying. Every friend and relative has some kind of bullshit solution to your new mental disorder.”

Alvie grins. This is why he loves Rachel. She doesn’t coddle him or make him feel any more weird about the mania than he already does. 

“I mean in the world,” he says, drinking some more water. 

“Everyone at school misses you,” she says. “You’re the  _ cool _ Alvarez. Neighbor’s girlfriend finally moved out. Thank God. I was so tired of them fighting till three am. Some university had a shooting.”

Oh no.

“Where?” Alvie asks.

Rachel shrugs, taking his hand in hers and tracing the outline of the bandage there. 

“Maybe one of the Carolinas or something? Not close to here,” she replies. “The body count wasn’t even that high. A lot of people were injured, but only one died. A girl. It was her ex-boyfriend that went batshit and shot the place up.”

“He shot her point blank, didn’t he?” Alvie asks quietly, unwillingly tugging forward the image of the girl moaning on the ground. 

“Yeah,” Rachel says. “I think so.”

“I know so,” Alvie says quietly.

“Huh?” Her brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been having nightmares again,” he says, lying back down. 

Rachel lays down next to him.

“You have to tell Mom and Dad that the meds are giving them to you,” She says. “That Lithium shit already makes you a zombie. No wonder you’re having nightmares.”

How can Alvie tell her most of his nightmares have come true? Every detailed bad dream has happened a short time later- a multiple fatality car accident, a devastating tornado,  a little girl that was abducted from a tropical resort.

And now the shooting. 

“I need the meds, Rach,” he says, drumming his fingers on his stomach. 

“Mom says Dr. Koester called in a specialist to talk to this week about your dreams,” Rachel says. “Probably some crack psychologist with a fake Swedish accent. You’re an abused foster kid teenager with Bipolar Disorder. You’re a shrink’s wet dream.”

“I just wish I didn’t have to talk about the dreams,” Alvie tells her. “It’s not like regular dreams where you wake up and forget it all in a few minutes. This is like watching a movie-it’s in full color, HD and everything.”

Rachel lays her head on his shoulder.

“Maybe it will even out with the meds,” she says softly. 

Alvie knows that’s not true. He’s not exactly sure  _ how  _ he knows, but it’s frustrating to know and not be able to explain it. He can’t explain how he knows the difference between a regular dream and  _ whatever _ these night terrors are. He can’t explain how he’ll dream something and then see it on the news a few days later, sometimes even hours later. And even if he could, he’s manic now. Nothing out of his mouth holds weight anymore. He’s just another random crazy person.

“I wonder if this specialist can help me,” he says. 

They lay in silence for several minutes until Tia Rosie returns with some soup and crackers on a tray. He eats the best he can-he has no appetite- and then he asks Rachel to bring him his sketchbook. One thing’s remained the same, he’s still a good artist. 

“The girl,” he says, sketching a young woman’s face. “She was Asian, yeah? Chinese or something?”

“From Shanghai traveling abroad,” Rachel confirms. 

Alvie remembers her down to the freckle under her eye. He sketches quickly and furiously and then passes it to Rachel.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s her.”

And she was shot here-” he reaches around to touch his own back with his finger tip. “And then in the throat and head.”

Rachel nods. 

“The news must have been playing while you were asleep or something,” she says. 

“No, I-” Alvie sighs. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

“No shit.” Rachel says, holding up his hand. 

“I mean-” he tugs at his hair. “Something else. Forget it, forget it.”

He lays back down and covers his eyes with his arm. Rachel sighs and lays back down with him, pulling the covers up over them both. 

“I love you,” she tells him, because that’s all she can do. All she can do is love him.

“Love you,” he murmurs back, already fighting sleep again.

Stupid Lithium. 

\------

The only bright spot in these insane nightmares is a recurring dream that he has. Well, not a recurring dream, but a recurring person or character. He was older than Alvie, but he had a kind face. Alvie didn’t think his dreams of whoever this was were of future events. It was more like they were happening in real time. Sort of. The one he’d just woken up from had been happy. Happy and joyful. 

So few of his dreams were like this. This young man was graduating. But not high school, not even regular college. He had a funny multi-sided hand on that wasn’t a traditional cap and there were stripes on the sleeves of his graduation robe. He seemed excited about life. He was with his family. His mother for sure, they resembled each other, and two young girls that were maybe middle school age. They were taking photos and hugging him. He seemed so at ease with them. 

Two days later, Alvie saw a news story, one of those inspirational, feel-good type features. It was the young man from his dreams. He was graduating with a double doctorate in biochemistry and engineering from Penn State at only 23 years of age. The story said his name was Ruben Marcado,  _ Doctor _ Ruben Marcado. He was going to be taking a job running the prestigious Pharmacology lab at Independence Memorial Hospital. The story made Alvie smile. At least someone had their life together. 

\------

“Juan.” Rachel nudges her cousin’s sleeping form with her foot. “Shit. Juan, GET UP.”

The morning sun is streaming through the blinds of their apartment in Phoenix. It’s been almost four months since they’ve moved here, and so far, things aren’t going so great. Rachel nudges him again.

“JUAN.”

“What? Let a guy sleep, damn!”

“It’s almost noon,” Rachel says, ripping the blankets off of him. “And I’m late for work-which by the way, I noticed you didn’t call Mrs. Mendoza back about the diner job- and I also noticed that there’s two hundred dollars charged to my debit card. You know anything about that?”

“Well, I was hungry and I needed art supplies. The good stuff ain't cheap. Now can I go back to sleep?”

Rachel sighs in frustration and says, “No. You fucking can’t go back to sleep because you’re going to get your lazy ass up and go to the diner where I found you a job!”

She runs a hand through her hair. 

“Not to mention, I’m worried that you’re having those bizarre night terrors again. You were screaming last night.” She crosses her arms. “Are you on something?”

“No, but maybe I should be. You got any weed lying around? I can’t help it when I get those dreams. They just come and I can’t shut them off. It’s why I’m tired.” He pulls his pillow over his head. 

Rachel diffuses slightly and sits on the bed. She knows she’s going to be later for work, but these dreams have always troubled her cousin. 

“Maybe,” she says, a little nervously. “Mom and Dad were right. Maybe the medication helps.”

She was the one who’d dragged him to Phoenix to keep him off medication, because he didn’t want it, said it made him feel worse, made him hurt himself. 

“I don’t like  _ those _ meds. I can’t feel nothin’ when i’m on them. Like, even if I cut myself. There’s just nothing there. Everything is too slow. I can’t live like that; like I’m in a bowl of blue jello. The doctor’s don’t listen anyway. And they didn’t help with my nightmares neither, so what’s the point?”

Rachel stands up. There’s no use arguing with him.

“At least do the dishes,” she says, picking up her shoulder bag as she walks out.

Alvie doesn’t tell her part of the reason he’s still asleep is because of his dream. A little boy, maybe eight, was leaning too far over the railing of a cruise ship. It didn’t end well. Alvie knows that at some point, he’ll hear about it. He hates that. 

At least he’d seen the other man again after he’d woke up crying about the little boy. He’s still at the lab. Often Alvie sees him in the company of another man, but something seems off with the other man. Sometimes Dr. Marcado is stressed around him, or worried. They argue more and more lately. Alvie doesn’t like this other man, but Dr. Marcado always seems to want to help him. 

It’s not until mid afternoon, after he half-heartedly washes a sink full of dishes (but doesn’t bother to dry or put away), that he takes a nap and has a different kind of nightmare. 

_ Rachel and Alvie are arguing. She’s home from work and upset that he’s in bed yet again. She tells him that she can’t keep putting up with his lack of responsibility. Alvie nods, looking away, his hand drumming against his thigh. He needs a smoke bad, but he has to wait for her to finish screaming at him.  _

_ Once she’s done, she roughly bumps shoulders with him as she passes, going to her own bedroom, slamming the door. Alvie continues outside, and instead of going out to the balcony as usual, he goes down to the parking lot just in case Rachel is ready for Round 2 of her tirade. The desert air is chilly now that it’s dark out. As he lights his cigarette, he sees a car across the lot still running, the headlights off. It’s just a simple black car, nothing out of the ordinary, but it is odd that the headlights aren’t on.  _

_ After he finishes his cigarette, he wanders around a bit. He wants to go out. He can feel the mania creeping up on him, but Rachel might lock him out if he stays out late, plus he has no money so he can’t really get too far, so he simply walks and walks until he becomes too cold without his jacket. _

_ When he returns to the apartment, something is wrong. The front door is unlocked. He knows he locked it. He walks in and can tell something is off. His bedroom door is open, and even from the front entry, he can see things scattered and his desk chair turned over. Rachel’s door is partly open. Has she been snooping through his things?  _

_ “I told you,” he says, going to the room. “I ain’t on-” _

_ His blood runs cold when pushes the door all the way open and sees just how torn up his room is. It’s much worse than if Rachel had been looking for pills or coke. He goes to her room, not with the intent of accusing her, but to make sure she’s alright.  _

_ “Rach?” He pushes her door open hurriedly and his breath catches in his throat. Her room is a mess too, and what’s even worse, there’s blood on her wall.  _

_ “Rachel?” He looks around, but she’s not there. “Rachel?!” _

_ He leaves her bedroom and runs to the kitchen to grab his phone. It’s gone. There’s only a sheet of paper on the floor, the corner of it stained red. He picks it up. It’s tiny print, but he can make out his name, the address of the apartment, and ‘precognition’.  _

_ He’s not sure how he knows, but he’s put Rachel’s life in danger. Someone has hurt her, or worse, because of him. They’re looking for him.  _

He wakes up with tears running down his face. He clambers out of bed and runs to Rachel’s room, not even bothering to knock. Her lamp is on, and she’s lying on her bed, still in her clothes, an open textbook beside her. She’s asleep.

Alvie knows the difference between dreams and visions, and he knows what he just saw was not a dream. He carefully leans over her to make sure she’s really asleep and not dead, but she stirs slightly and curls up into a ball from not having a blanket on. Alvie picks up the edge of her comforter from her unmade bed and covers her up, kissing her cheek. 

He then goes back to his room and begins to pack clothes into his worn duffle bag. He goes to the kitchen and takes the coffee can filled with cash Rachel doesn’t think he knows about. He usually only sneaks ten or twenty at a time, and only when he really needs it, but this time he takes it all. It should be just enough to buy a plane ticket to New Jersey. 

He grabs a piece of paper and scratches out a quick note. 

> Rachel,
> 
> I’m sorry to leave like this. I know it’s for the best. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry. 
> 
> I wish I could explain, but there’s no time. You always wanted what’s best for me and now 
> 
> I’m doing what’s best for you, Don’t look for me. I love you. 
> 
> Your brother, 
> 
> Juan

As he leaves the apartment and heads down the stairs, signaling the Uber driver he’s already called, he takes out his phone. 

He’s not sure what he’s going to do when he gets to New Jersey. If Rachel’s in danger, his aunt and uncle may be as well. He’ll just have to figure it out. He’s good at that.

\----

Alvie knows the drill. He’s been taken from holding cells to psych wards before. He feels this time it’s unfair that he was even in a holding cell because he’s not manic and he wasn’t, as the officer put it ‘disturbing the peace’. Sure, he’s had a little bit to drink, but it’s not like he’s driving or even taking the subway. He was walking on the sidewalk for Pete’s Sake! In one of the most college student filled parts of the city. Everyone walks around drunk. 

He’s only drunk because he’d seen Dr. Marcado on a plane and then being taken somewhere against his will by the other man form the hospital that he never liked. He’d kidnapped Dr. Marcado. Alvie had desperately hoped that it wasn’t true that someone, a supposed friend, would do something to hurt him. But then he’d seen the news article about the two missing doctors from IMH. He’d felt the need to self medicate and drink his sorrows and worries away. Hopefully Dr. Marcado would be okay. 

It was Pete’s Pizza that got him into trouble. Closing time-as usual, they toss out any leftovers. Alvie gets lucky once in a while and can talk up the manager into giving him some. Pizza places are especially good because he can usually get an entire pie. 

Tonight, however, is different. After chatting up the manager and bumming a cigarette, he’s being put into a police car, then a holding cell, and then a psych ward.

“This is him?” A man in a suit asks as an officer takes him out of the cell.

“I ain’t manic,” Alvie says, frowning. He hates psych wards. 

The man ignores what he says, but looks him up and down. 

“Prepare him for transport,” he tells the officer, who nods.

\----

Alvie waits in a small, windowless room, pacing. How is he going to explain that he’s not having a psychotic episode? Typically places like this don’t believe him, hold him for a few days, and then set him free. This is different. The check in process-they did a thorough physical on him, took a blood sample, and took mugshot style pictures of him. 

“Hello, Alvie,” the man from before says, coming into the room with an orderly and a doctor in a white coat. “I’m Dr. Lawless, I’m the director of psychology here.”

Alvie frowns. “I already told you. I ain’t manic. I’m fine. I had a few drinks and then went walking. Mr. Maroni wouldn’t call the cops on me. He knows me.”

“When was your last episode?” Dr. Lawless asks, gesturing for him to sit in the chair at the desk. He takes the seat at the desk.

Alvie tugs at his hair. “About...two months ago? Maybe three?”

“Are you currently on any medication?” Dr. Lawless asks.

Alvie shakes his head.

Dr. Lawless writes these things down in a notepad. He asks Alvie about his family, when was the last time he saw them, how long has he been off his meds, and then he starts talking about dreams. Alvie finds that odd. He’s talked about his dreams to other doctors in other hospitals, but they always dismiss them as unimportant. Dr. Lawless seems very interested in his dreams. He even slides the notepad over and asks Alvie to draw the storefront that he saw in his last dream, the one that was on the news two days later. A car had driven through the building and crushed and killed someone. 

Alvie talks and talks and talks about these dreams. Dr. Lawless asks how long he’s been having them. He asks about the details and how Alvie feels when he wakes up. The other doctor, who hasn’t said a word, touches his arm and says, “Would you come with me please, Mr. Alvarez?”

He’s taken to a room, but only with one bed, not two. Lawless follows them shortly and informs Alvie he’ll be staying here for a few days.

“I usually get a call,” Alvie says, frowning.

“Not this time,” Dr. Lawless says simply. To the other doctor he says, “I want a mild dose of DMT to start off.”

“What’s DMT?” Alvie asks, but he gets no answer. Typical. 

They both leave the room and Alvie is left alone. He could really use a cigarette. He lies on the bed and tugs at his hair. He’s hungry. He’s antsy. He wants out.

The next person to return is a nurse with a tray of food. It’s a sandwich and some chips and a glass of milk. Alvie mutters a thank you and eats it all. He is hungry, after all. After that, the same doctor as before comes in and asks if he needs to go to the bathroom. 

“Yeah.” He says, and is escorted down the hall to a restroom. After that, he’s taken right back to the room and the nurse gives him a cotton t-shirt and pants. 

“I haven’t got my call,” he says.

“You need to rest now,” the nurse says, waiting.

Alvie frowns. “You have to watch me change?”

“Yes,” he replies, taking a large ziplock bag. “Your belongings will remain here. I’ll need your socks and underwear as well.”

Alvie does as he’s told and once he’s in clean, soft clothes, the nurse hands him two pills.

“I ain’t manic,” Alvie says for the hundredth time that night.

“It’s a sedative, the nurse says simply, “and it’s required.”

Alvie sighs, figuring he could use the sleep and pops the two pills and takes the cup of water that’s offered to him. As if on cue, the doctor and Lawless come in and the doctor asks for his arm. 

“What?” Alvie asks, refusing.

“Remember,” Dr. Lawless tells him. “A low dose to start.”

The doctor takes a needle from a little silver case.

“No,” Alvie says, but then he suddenly feels incredibly woozy, like he’s just taken a whole bottle of his Lithium. His legs shake as he walks backwards to the bed and sits down. 

“What…” he slurs, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. “What’d you give...me?”

“Lie back,” Dr. Lawless says, gently pushing him into a lying position. To the doctor he says, “I want everything he says recorded.”

Alvie’s whole body feels heavy and floaty at the same time. His vision goes in and out as the smell of alcohol overwhelms him and then he feels the prick of a needle. He’s out cold.

\----

His nightmare that night is horrifying. A young woman, bloody and beaten is being half marched, half dragged to a parked car in a field. It’s night and Alvie can feel the chill in the air. She’s crying and begging whoever has her to please let her go. She’s forced to the ground and he can hear the trunk pop open. He sees a hammer come down and then blood. The screams of the woman as she’s hit over and over is too much. 

“He’s starting to wake!” A voice says, and Alvie can feel himself drift further and further away from the horrible sight. 

“Another dose,” Lawless’ voice says. “Also mild.”

“He’s hurting himself, Sir.”

“Restrain him. Get restraint cuffs in here now.”

Alvie is almost fully awake to where he’s back in the hospital room when he feels another needle. In a half conscious, half sleep state, he’s aware that his hands are being restrained to the railing of the bed and something bitter and rubbery goes into his mouth. He recognizes it as a mouth guard. He can’t cry out now as he slips back into the nightmare of the now bludgeoned woman, so badly beaten she’s unrecognizable, being hoisted and tossed into the trunk of the car. 

“Goodbye, Samantha,” a man’s voice says, shutting the trunk.

It’s not over for Alvie. He’s in the trunk now with her, staring at her mangled face and caved in skull, blood and other things everywhere. He can’t scream. He can’t move. He’s just along for the ride until the car stops and Samantha (whoever she is) is taken back out of the trunk and placed on a workbench in some sort of garage. He’s forced to watch in horror as a man saws her apart and places each piece carefully into black trash bags, occasionally pausing to smoke a cigarette. Once he gets to her head, he double bags it and says, “Rotten bitch.”

\----

Alvie wakes up, his hands still tied, his mouth full of something. He tries to spit and when he manages to get it out, a nurse comes over and pulls the rest out. It’s blood stained balls of cotton wrapped in sterile gauze. His tongue feels a bit swollen and there’s a dull ache along the left side of it. He must have bit his tongue. But, he had a mouth guard in, didn’t he? Did he manage to struggle and spit it out? He couldn’t remember. Not clearly. 

“I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake,” the nurse says simply.

Alvie stares at the ceiling, the residual emotions of the nightmare, which always feels so real to him, linger. He wants to cry. 

“Good morning,” Dr. Lawless says. “Well, four in the morning. Let’s get these restraints off of you.”

Alvie allows him to uncuff him and then he curls up onto his side and cries softly. He’s never experienced a nightmare that vividly. 

“We’ve talked it over with your previous doctor and law enforcement,” Lawless says, as if Alvie isn’t crying. “We’re going to keep you here for a while.”

“ ‘call Rachel?” Alvie whimpers, longing for his sister, his best friend, more than ever. 

“I’m afraid outside contact is not allowed this time,” Dr. Lawless says and the nurse comes back over.

“Just a regular sedative this time to help him sleep,” Dr. Lawless tells him. 

Alvie doesn’t even fight this needle and he’s asleep again in minutes. He dreams something else, and though it’s not pleasant, it’s comforting. It’s the man Alvie’s seen in his dreams since he was seventeen, Dr. Marcado, only this time, he’s not in a hospital or at home writing in a journal or tending to plants or drinking coffee in a shop. He’s also curled up on his side on a little mattress in a dark room and he’s also crying. There are fresh marks on his back. Someone’s hurt him. Alvie can almost feel his pain and it matches his own. Something within the dream tells him that this man is going to be alright. Maybe it’s because he’s seen him so many times.

\----

He’s allowed to eat breakfast in the ‘common area’ which isn’t much of a social gathering. There are no other patients really. Mostly just doctors and nurses, but there is a TV with no sound in the corner of the room. It’s the news, his least favorite program, so he drifts in and out, eating his cereal and watching people move around the room. When he does catch the television again, his blood runs cold. He sees a woman’s picture in the corner of the screen with ‘MISSING’ across it in big letters. 

Samantha Jensen. 

She’s smiling in the picture, cheek to cheek with some of her girlfriends, not scared or bleeding or crying, but Alvie knows better. Alvie knows she’s not just missing anymore. She’s gone.

Come visit us on [Tumblr](https://rochambeauuniverse.tumblr.com)


	3. Ruben: How Exciting For Me

Ruben was curled up in the back corner of the handicapped bathroom, tissue stuffed into his nose and blood still seeping from a busted lip. 

Academically, he loved school. Socially, it was a waking nightmare. His mother had been ecstatic when he’d been one of the few selected in the tough entrance exam process to get into Roman Catholic High School, a prestigious all boy’s high school. She’d been even more delighted when his scores had resulted in a full scholarship to the school. He was smart. Probably one of the smartest to attend the school. And he was going to graduate early. 

His teachers loved him. Some of his fellow students, not so much, especially the older ones. They said he made them look bad. That was never his intention. He couldn’t help it that he always did not just the classwork and homework, but any extra work they could find for him. This was especially true in math and science. He could never learn enough. His mother had instilled in him and early love of reading and learning. He was driven. If there was a question, he had to find the answer or answers. 

Today, he’d proven his classmates wrong when they’d arrived at an incorrect conclusion in their honors level Logic class. He was able to disprove their premises based on the fact that he’d read more than them and therefore had a deeper understanding of the subject than the rest of the class. Most of the students were impressed. But not Brock. Brock was smart. And he was a bully. He was the one that had written the incorrect premises of the argument. When Ruben had shown a spotlight on not just his logical fallacy, but his circular reasoning, there had been hoots and cat calls from some of the other boys. But Brock and three of his goons had stared daggers at Ruben from behind Father McDowell's back. 

Ruben’s smile at his triumph had faded quickly at their heated expressions. He knew he’d caught their attention and that was not something anyone ever wanted to do. Brock probably should have been expelled ages ago, but his father was a generous donor to the school. It bought him unfair amounts of grace. 

Ruben had sat down quietly after the intellectual exchange while Father McDowell continued with the lesson. Brock never let his eyes wander from Ruben for more than a few seconds after that. 

Ruben bolted out of the door as soon as the bell rang, hoping to avoid Brock and his buddies. He’d taken refuge in the nearest boys bathroom. He really should have gone to a different floor or another corridor. But he didn’t. He’d just tried to get out of sight as fast as possible. That was a hefty miscalculation on his part. Brock hated looking stupid. He was one of the oldest students in the class, and due to Ruben’s accelerated studies, he was the youngest in the class. Brock was 18 and a senior. Ruben was fifteen and a junior. It was never going to be a fair fight. 

He heard the door to the bathroom open and Brock’s deep voice calling for him. 

“Ruben,” he sang mockingly. “I know you’re in here. Tommy saw you sprint like a little girl into the bathroom. There’s no teachers around to save your sorry ass this time. You know why? Because I’m smarter than you. See, Joey, Steve, Tommy and I discussed it.”

Ruben flinched from his perch on top of the toilet in the last stall when he heard Brock kick open the door of the first stall. He wrapped his arms around his knees and rocked slightly. This was going to be bad.

“Tommy went to go pick a fight at the other end of the hall. I’m sure we’ll hear the yelling any minute. And Joey, Steve and I came here. No one will be looking for us while they deal with the other disruption.” 

Ruben swallowed hard. He jumped when the next door was kicked open. That only left one other door before they were at the last stall. 

He closed his eyes and breathed hard as the third door banged open. 

“There’s our little smarty pants.” Ruben’s eyes flew open. Brock was looking straight at him through the gap between the door and the partition wall. 

Even though Ruben had locked the door, the lock was flimsy and was no match for Brock’s bulk. He was a big guy. They all were. The human body did a lot of changing between fifteen and eighteen. Ruben understood the biology of it, but that didn’t help him at all. 

The sound of yelling and chanting suddenly rose from down the hall. “Right on time,” Steve commented. 

The door crashed open and he was immediately rushed by the three bigger boys. Steve was able to pin his arms behind his back and hold him still, Joey had a fist full of his hair in one hand and his other was pressed over Ruben’s mouth. That left Brock standing with a smirk in front of him. Ruben’s eyes were wide. His small frame struggled in their meaty grasps. He couldn’t cry for help. Nothing. 

He sucked in a breath through his nose and tried to stop his shaking. He met Brock’s eyes and stared back at him with as much defiance as he could muster. He was right. He was smart. Brock was just a bully. 

Brock smirked at him. “You gonna scream?”

Ruben shook his head. Brock nodded to Joey and Ruben felt the hand come off his mouth. 

“You think you’re real smart don’t you, little teacher’s pet?”

“I am smart.” Ruben knew he shouldn’t piss Brock off any more than he already had, but since this was already going down, there was no sense in letting the opportunity go to waste. “I’m the smartest person in the class. You were wrong. Your premise was wrong. You’re just mad that I’m smarter than you.”

The blow was fast and unexpected. Brock’s fist connected with his nose and Ruben felt the blood start running immediately. He couldn’t stifle the cry that left him, but he knew it wasn’t loud enough to alert anyone outside of the bathroom, especially with the fight still going on down the hall. 

Brock’s next punch caught Ruben in the ribs and knocked all the air from his lungs. Ruben gasped and doubled over as much as he could. Joey yanked his head back and forced him upright again. Brock landed several more punches to Ruben’s midsection before a culminating hit to his mouth. Ruben slumped in Steve’s arms while the boys laughed at him. They let him sink to the ground on his hands and knees. 

Ruben wiped at the blood on his face. “G-good f-for you, Brock,” Ruben panted out. “You beat up the smart kid. You’re such a stereotype.” He mustered a laugh of his own, though it ended in a loud cry why Brock kicked him in the side of the head, causing him to fall to his side on the floor. He was going to have a black eye from that. 

The other two each landed a kick to his ribs and midsection before leaving the bathroom, laughing hysterically.  _ Why did teenage boys have to suck so much _ , he asked himself. 

He tried to lift himself up but a sharp pain across his side stopped him and he fell back to the floor with a grunt. The warning bell for the next class rang. He was going to be late. He was never late for class. He rolled over and reached up to the toilet paper dispenser and grabbed some tissue. He stuffed it into his still gushing nose and grabbed some more to wipe at the blood from his badly split lip. 

He dragged himself over to the back corner of the stall and curled up in a ball while he kept pressure on his lip. He leaned his head down on his knees. The door opened again a few minutes later and Ruben’s entire body convulsed. Were they coming back to hurt him some more?

“Dude! Did you see that fight?”

“Stupidest fight I’ve ever seen. Tommy just sucker punched that freshman and then danced around while the other kid kept trying to hit him back. It was like one good punch and then a non-fight. So dumb!”

“I bet that Brock kid put him up to it. Since when is there a fight in this school and Brock’s not involved in it?”

“He’s such a waste. His daddy pays for him to come to this school and he spends his days terrorizing others. Doesn’t he realize that there are hundreds of guys that would jump at the chance to come here? What a loser.”

Ruben smirked. At least he’s not the only one who thought Brock was a complete tool. The other two boys left the bathroom and Ruben was once again alone in the room. His ribs ached with every movement, but he didn’t think they were broken. After a while longer, Ruben managed to get himself up to a standing position. He hobbled out of the stall to the sink. He turned the water on and grabbed some paper towels to start cleaning up his face. 

He caught his reflection in the mirror. There’s no way he could hide that fact that he’d been about beat to hell. His eye was black and the skin on that side of his face was all scraped up from Brock’s shoe dragging across it. 

The door opened again and Ruben jerked back to press himself against the wall by the sink. He looked up and his eyes met the concerned expression of Father McDowell. 

“Mr. Marcado, what… what’s happened? Are you okay?”

“I-Uh… I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay." Father Ryan said you didn’t make it to his class. "You never miss biology. He was worried.”

Ruben shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to skip class. I swear.”

“I can tell. Does this have something to do with Brock?”

“What? No. I just… f-fell,” Ruben finished lamely. 

“Ruben,” Ruben looked up at the use of his first name. The teachers never used their first names here. He bit his lip. “If I check the cameras, am I going to see Brock and his lackeys coming into this bathroom during that ridiculous fight between classes?”

Ruben couldn’t lie. He’d always been terrible at it. He nodded his head pathetically. “It’s not going to matter though. Everyone knows that nothing is going to happen to him. I’m not the first and I won’t be the last.”

“Well, come with me. We’ll just see about that.”

“N-no. He’ll make my life hell if I do that. I just want to graduate early and go on to college.”

“And you will, but he won’t. Now come along, let’s go see the Rector.”

Ruben sighed and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He was so dead. Brock was gonna kill him for being a snitch.

He followed Father McDowell to the Rector’s office. He sat in silence while they called his mom and then pulled up the camera feed. He glanced up only briefly when he saw himself go in the bathroom followed by Brock and his goons only a minute or two later. 

“I told you I thought he planned that fight. We couldn’t figure out why, well, here you have it.” Father McDowell was saying. 

“Ruben,” Rector Brandt addressed him, “Would you be willing to press assault charges against him?”

“I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble. Can’t I just go to class and be done with it? Brock does this. It was just my turn this week.”

“That may have been the case under Monsignor Hardaway in previous years, but this is my school now and I don’t care how generous someone’s father is. He’s done terrorizing the halls with his little gang. But I need someone to press charges. No one has agreed to do that yet.”

Ruben looked up at him. “And I’ll have your word? I’ll have your word that he won’t come back to school?”

“You tell us what happened and he’s done.”

“What about the others? His buddies.”

“We can at least start building a case on them. Tell us what happened and we’ll see what we can do.”

There was a knock at the door and the secretary ushered in Ruben’s mom. 

“Rubén, mi querido! What has happened to you? Who did this?”

Ruben had held his tears in until that moment when his mother took his beaten face in her hands and he melted into her, sobbing against her. He felt utterly ashamed and embarrassed at his lack of control on his emotions in front of the other two men. Like he was a baby. But he was hurt and there was nothing he wanted more than for his mom to make it not hurt like she could when he was little. 

“You two! Tell me what happened to my Rubén before I go to the media and tell them exactly how things go here for underprivileged students. I may not be able to afford a lawyer and file a lawsuit, but there are other ways I can deal with this if you gentlemen won’t.”

“Mrs. Marcado,” began the Rector. “We called you here because we would like for you and your son to press charges against the boy or boys responsible. We can’t go forward with removing these boys until someone does that.”

“My son is here on a scholarship. We don’t have money for fancy lawyers. What are we supposed to do?”

“You won’t need to. We just contact the police and have Ruben get checked out by the doctor, on the school’s dime of course. All we ask is that you follow through with the criminal case.”

Estefania Marcado pulled back from Ruben and looked into his face. “Is this something you would want to do mijo?”

Ruben nodded. “I-I can be brave. If I don't, someone else will get hurt. If someone had done this sooner, then today might have gone differently for me.”

“Who are these boys, mijo?”

“Brock, and his friends.”

“Who are his friends?” she asked. 

“Tommy, he started a fight to keep the teachers and other administrators from hearing them in the bathroom with me. The others…” Ruben hesitated. He didn’t have a guarantee that any of the others would be dealt with, but maybe it would work out. He had to hope it would work out. “Steve and Joey held me still while Brock beat on me. Then they all kicked me when I was down before they left me on the floor in the bathroom.”

“Why did they do this to you?” his mother asked gently.

“I… I disproved his argument in Logic and the other kids laughed. He doesn’t like that I’m smarter than him and so much younger. He was mad because I called him out in class. But, he was wrong. His argument was based on false premises.” Ruben looked at Father McDowell. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do in class? I've had my arguments deconstructed. I never took it personal. It’s how I learn.”

Father McDowell smiled sadly at him. “Yes. It is exactly what you are supposed to do in honors Logic. How that buffoon of a student ever got approved to be in that class, I’ll never know.”

There was another knock at the door and the secretary poked her head in. “Sirs, the officer is here, do you wish for me to send him in?”

“Yes, please.”

A big, dark brown man in a Philadelphia police department uniform came into the room. The man was built like a refrigerator. Ruben scooted closer to his mother. 

“Officer Reyes, how can I be of assistance?” the officer introduced, shaking hands around the room. He stopped when he got to Ruben and looked at him. “And what happened to you, young man?”

Ruben gave his mother a panicked glance, but she smiled and nodded encouragingly. She always seemed to know when he needed to be the one to use his words. There were times where she would speak for him, but they were getting less and less as he got older. She was good at that. 

He bit his lip and met the officer’s gaze. 

“Did someone hurt you here at school?” Officer Reyes prompted. 

“Y-yes, sir,” Ruben managed to answer. 

“Do you and your mother wish to press charges against this person or persons?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I do.” Ruben felt himself growing more confident as he spoke with the officer. The man was large, but he had a kind face and a soothing presence. 

“Good. Now why don’t we have a chat and you tell me what happened. And then I’ll go and arrest the people who did this to you.”

Ruben nodded. 

“Does he need to go to the hospital?” the officer asked. 

“We’re going to have him checked out medically as soon as we’re done here,” Rector Brandt answered. 

“Okay. Good.”

Ruben proceeded to tell the officer the whole story, from what happened in the classroom all the way through to what he’d heard the other boys say after Brock and his goons had left. He gave a nervous glance to the Rector at the accusation, but he thought they needed to hear it. 

About twenty minutes later, Ruben stood by his mother as he had the distinct privilege of seeing Brock being led out of the school in handcuffs. The police officer had explained that since Brock was eighteen, he was an adult. That opened up a whole world of possibilities that he could be charged with since Ruben was only fifteen. A few minutes later, Joey, Steve, and Tommy were all led out of the school in handcuffs as well. None of them saw Ruben and his mom, they were too busy yelling for someone to call their daddies. Ruben smirked. 

As he headed for the car with his mom so that he could go and get checked out at the nearby Independence Memorial Hospital, he decided that today was a good day after all. He wasn’t going to be a doormat. He could stand up to the bullies when he needed to. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need to ever again. 

Brock would be expelled, and Ruben would graduate early. Who knows, he thought as he sat on the hospital gurney letting the doctors check him over. Maybe one day he’d work here. This would be a really cool place to work. He could help people. If he did become a scientist when he grew up, he’d want to use his knowledge to help people. Maybe cure some crazy disease or some unique condition. Maybe he could win a Nobel Prize or something. One day. Today, he could just be a kid that stood up to the school bully. 

His mom put her arm around him. “I’m so proud of you, querido. So very proud.”

* * *

Ruben looked around at his new lab. At 24, he was the youngest head of pharmacology in the history of Independence Memorial Hospital. He’d done his dissertation on sleep inducing drugs and break through therapies where other drugs weren’t working. 

There had been several hospital pharmacology labs that had tried to recruit him, but IMH was close to home and offered him the lead position. Dr. Young had taken a chance on him and he wasn’t going to waste it. 

He looked up when the door to the lab opened. A doctor in scrubs came through the lab and headed straight for Ruben. 

“Hi, you must be Dr. Marcado, I’m Dr. Jason Cole, head of neurosurgery. We’re going to be working closely together from time to time. I read your work on sleep studies. It was fascinating.”

He shook Ruben’s hand enthusiastically. Ruben felt all of his words leave him. He’d heard about Dr. Cole. He was brilliant. Ruben couldn’t think of what to say so he just stood there shaking the man’s hand.

“Cat got your tongue, or did you want to shake my arm off? I kinda need it to do my job.”

“Oh, right, sorry. Yeah. I-I’m Ruben. Ruben Marcado. Ph.D.”  _ Ph.D? Wow he sounded like an idiot. _ “I… I would love to work you… I mean work with you. You’ve done some amazing things. I’ve followed your work for years. I can’t believe you’re here. I mean that I’m here.”

Dr. Cole gave Ruben a dazzling smile. “Good to know. Means I won’t have to explain stuff to you like I do all the other idiots around here. We’re gonna be great partners. Say, would you be willing to do me a favor? 

“What sort of a favor, Dr. Cole? I’d love to help in any way I can. I-I’d be honored.” Ruben couldn’t believe that the head of neurosurgery would want to hear his opinion on important medical quandaries. 

_ Perhaps this is too good to be true? You’re an unproven kid for the most part. Why would he care to hear what you have to say?  _ Ruben heard a small warning voice in his head ask. 

Ruben shoved these uncertain and self doubting questions to the back of his mind. He wanted to prove himself and he couldn’t do that if he was second guessing himself and those around him. 

“It would be help regarding a purely hypothetical problem, for starters. I’d love to pick your brain on a few things. How’s your knowledge of DID?”

“Dissociative Identity Disorder? Um… not really my area of expertise…”

“Oh of course, but have you ever thought of using sleep therapies to treat it?”

“Well, I suppose it could be useful. Why do you ask?”

“I have a… a patient that had some interesting and very unique symptoms. I was curious if there was an angle we hadn’t looked at, you know, like brain chemistry and things like that.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“I could share more with you if you ever want. Maybe we could grab dinner sometime and I could pick your brain for some more details.”

“Y-yeah, Dr. Cole. That would be awesome. I would love that.”

Dr. Cole smiled. “Alright then. I gotta go operate. I’m doing a hemispherectomy on a four-year-old in less than an hour, but I just had to come and meet you.”

“Sure.” Ruben felt utterly flustered.  _ This was gonna be such a great job _ . 

* * *

Things had gone so wrong. So very, very wrong. And now, even his attempt to get away from the whole Jason Cole/Ian Price catastrophe had come back to bite him in the ass. 

Ruben sat next to the window on the plane. Ian had not returned to his seat; he’d stayed right next to Ruben. When Ruben’s expression turned to that of a scared desperate rabbit, he’d calmly told him that even if he could get away, he couldn’t stop Ian. Because Ian was Dr. Jason Cole, charming, accomplished neurosurgeon. And not just any neurosurgeon. He was chief of neurosurgery at a prestigious hospital. All he’d have to do is say that Ruben was his patient and was experiencing some neuro-defects that resulted in delusions and paranoia. 

Ian had also informed him that if he really and truly felt the need to run, he’d let him. But Ian would be on the next flight back to Philly and his family would be dead. Ian told him to turn and look out the window until all the other passengers had disembarked. Ruben obeyed. If he obeyed, perhaps he could escape and get help for his family before Ian could get back to the mainland. Maybe Jason could help him. He just had to hold off until 8:25 am. That was all. He just had to survive Ian for only a few more hours. He could do that. 

The last of the passengers deplaned and Ian stood. Ruben moved to follow. “Ah, ah, ah, Rubes. I’m going to step back to my seat and get my carry-on baggage. You’re going to stay right here, aren’t you?”

Ruben’s eyes fell and he sat back down, nervously looking around. Could no one see that he was in distress? Could they not hear the thoughts screaming in his brain for help? Could they not see that something was very, very wrong with this?

They couldn’t. No one looked him in the eyes. No one gave either of them a second glance as Ruben and Ian walked off the plane. Ian had both of their backpacks, which meant he now had all of Ruben’s cash, his passport and his phone. 

“Eyes down, Ruben. Remember if anyone is on to us, you and more than likely your family are going to pay. No one’s going to believe a word you say. Now be quiet and keep your head down.”

Instead of steering them towards baggage claim as Ruben had expected, he guided them through the exit to the line of taxis. 

“Ian, my bag…”

“Quiet, Ruben. You won’t need your bag. Get in the taxi.” 

* * *

They pulled up in front of a seedy looking motel. They entered and Ian looked him over, calculating. There was only one bed and even though Ian wouldn’t sleep, he forced Ruben to go sit in the chair. He obeyed, but his eyes constantly searched the room. He looked everywhere for something that would help him. He saw nothing. His eye eventually roamed back to Ian, who was rummaging in his carry-on. 

To Ruben’s horror, he pulled out a bag of zip ties. 

“Since I know I can’t trust you. You’ve already proven that on numerous occasions. I’m going to make sure you stay right here.”

“Please, I-I’m not gonna go anywhere. I’ll-I’ll be g-good.”

“I know. I’m just helping you make good choices, Ruben.”

Tears stung Ruben’s eyes, but he held them in as Ian used the zip ties to secure his wrists to the arms of the chain and his ankles to the chair legs. 

“Now, can I trust you to be quiet so I can think and come up with a plan that even that melodramatic diva, Jason, can’t screw up, or do I need to gag you?”

“I-I’ll be quiet.”

“Good boy, Rubes.” He patted Ruben’s cheek and then jumped on to the bed as carefree as if he were at a middle school girl’s sleepover. He whipped out his phone and started googling. 

Ruben eventually dozed off, but it wasn’t a restful sleep. He was exhausted from fear and worry from his hastily planned trip to the terror of the predicament in which he now found himself. 

When light dawned in the room, Ruben knew he hadn’t had near enough sleep. His stomach ached, his whole body was sore from sitting in the chair for the last several hours. His neck was cramped from a lack of support while trying to sleep sitting up, and he could feel the tension knots forming up across his shoulders. 

He shook his head and attempted to stretch his neck muscles as much as he could. 

“Rubes, you finally awake again?”

Ruben moaned a little. It was probably one of the worst awakenings he’d ever had. He made eye contact with Ian. “Let me go?” he said in a small voice. “Please. What are you going to do when Jason comes around? He won’t help you hold me. Not like this. Just let me go, and I’ll never tell a soul what happened. I swear. I won’t even tell Jason. Please.”

“See, I said we were going to have a chat and we are. We’re going to make a little video for Jason. See here’s the deal. Jason is the one that the world knows. And it’s going to look like he kidnapped you. And that’s what I’m going to tell him. Because we both know that you can’t be trusted, Ruben.”

“No. I can, I swear-” Ian cuffed him across the side of his head with his hand, startling a yelp from his lips. 

“You should know that I _can_ be trusted. I can be trusted to go back to the states and find your mother. I can be trusted to take a scalpel and slice her open from one ear to another. I can be trusted to go find those two sisters of yours and do the same thing. Think about it, Ruby Tuesday, has Jason ever really tried to stop me? In all the years you’ve known him. In these past few months since I’ve been back? Has he made a real effort? Or just let things play out?”

The color drained from Ruben’s face. Ian was right. Jason was rather powerless, or maybe spineless, to stop him. 

“You see it don’t you. So, the both of you, are going to stay right here in Jamaica until we can get all this mess sorted. Until you can get the kill drug ready for me to get rid of that pompous weakling, Jason. And until you do, you’re stuck with me. And Jason is stuck with us. You don’t want me going back to the states, now do you. Because you know what I’ll do, isn’t that right?”

Ruben nodded in absolute terror. He didn’t even have the words to speak. 

“So, let’s make a little video and explain why you can’t leave Jamaica and why Jason needs to go check out the farmhouse that I found for us to rent.” 

* * *

As Ian finished the video, he made sure both himself and Ruben were in the frame.

“So, do we all agree?" Ian asked Jason through the camera. "You and Ruben can make your own little video later. For now, I’m going to leave Ruben here and head towards that farmhouse. By the time I get there, it’ll be time for you to wake up. See you later.” Ian waved into the camera and then stopped the video. 

“See, Ruben, that wasn’t so bad. You  _ can _ be a good boy. I knew you could.”

“W-what am I supposed to do while you’re g-gone?”

“You? You’re going to wait right here. And you’re not going to scream for help or try to get away. Because if you disappear on me, I go straight for your family. I have more resources than you. I’m a neurosurgeon, and I’m a white, American, male. You see, I have all the cards.”

Ruben bit his lip, frowned, and knit his brows together. There  was no way out of this. He was going to have to go along. Maybe Jason could work with him and come up with a way to beat Ian at his own game. But haven’t they been trying that for months? Ruben looks down at his zip tied wrists. And this is where it has gotten them. He is probably going to die here. 

Ian came over and cut the zip ties. “Up, come on. I’m going to be gone for a while. I want you to go to the bathroom. I don’t want to come back to a mess.” He shoved Ruben towards the tiny hotel bathroom. 

Ruben rubbed his wrists as he stumbled through the door. He went ahead and used the toilet, but then he stood staring at himself in the mirror. The faucet was running, the steam rising in front of him. He was scared. More scared now than he’d ever been. He took a deep breath and looked at himself in the mirror. He could do this. Maybe if he was lucky he could figure out the kill drug and destroy Ian. He could do that, couldn’t he? 

He looked himself in the eyes and he felt his resolve building. If he was going to die, then the least he could do was die here and save his family. At that moment that was all he wanted. He would do anything to keep them safe. Even living in a god-forsaken farmhouse in Jamaica with Ian Price. He swallowed before he turned and opened the door. He brushed past Ian, not even looking at him as he returned to his seat in the chair. He swallowed hard again but held his head high. 

In Ruben’s mind’s eye, he saw his mom’s face. He could do this. He’d been brave before. He’d just have to wait for the right moment. Ian was just another bully. Bullies could be beaten.  _ But so can their victims _ a quiet, terrified voice reminded him. 

  
  
  
Come say high on [Tumblr](https://rochambeauuniverse.tumblr.com). 


End file.
